


Insanity's Couple

by OneDoesNotSimply (FallenAngelinMirkwood)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and guts and guns, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Implied Spy/Reader, Implied Spy/You, Non-Graphic Violence, Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, The awkwardness that could not be contained in one room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngelinMirkwood/pseuds/OneDoesNotSimply
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being confined in an Institute for the Criminally Insane for nearly ten years, the reader still denies that she was ever insane. Little did she know that she would soon be offered a job that would get her out of the hospital and change her life (hopefully) for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enlisted

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while but I never really thought of writing it down—until now at least hehe. This is my first work for tf2 and I hope I got the facts right. And it's pretty much based on my OC idea.  
> Tell me if it's getting too violence-y or graphic, or if I need to change certain details.  
> Pardon the German/French if it's not correct (and blame google translate) also feel free to correct it or anything else completely out of whack.  
> Kudos/Comments/Subscriptions are greatly appreciated! Hopefully I could update frequently ~~if ever I decide to continue~~.  
>  Enjoy reading!~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl was competent enough though, she did not treat you like some psychopath—which you aren't—or insane—which you deny to be. She did not reveal much about your new job either, just enough that you wouldn't stare blankly at every event.

You remember it as clear as day—though it has been weeks since they let you roam around the yard or even leave that damned room but that was a good thing, you suppose. You wouldn't want to be out there with all the murderous douchebags trying to beat you with a fork or a chair. In all honesty, that's what they call you as well, why do you think you're in the "enhanced treatment." But that was not the issue then. You heard a voice. It was a woman's voice—young, probably in her mid twenties. She was speaking to one of your doctors outside. They were at least five cells away, but in the quiet of your private quarters (as you like to call it) you could hear a needle drop without trying. At first, you found their conversation boring. Watching the freshly painted wall dry could provoke more interest. But then she mentioned your name.

“Mann Co. would provide a suitable job for her,” she said and you could hear her rummage through some papers. “Saxton Hale and the Administrator filed these papers for her immediate—”

“You don't understand, miss,” the doctor said, “this patient is here for a reason—and her condition has only improved by a fraction since she arrived.”

“I'm sorry, doctor, but I am only following orders. They both expect her to be released not later than today.”

“Have you not been listening? I cannot allow the patient to leave this premises without a complete treatment or reassurance that her sadistic tendencies would cease.”

 _It's not a tendency,_ you thought to yourself, _it's a hobby._

The girl sighs. “At least let me speak to her to settle her deal just in case she ever leaves.”

“I am allowing this just for now. I've warned you of the consequences, Miss Pauling. Heed them.”

The next thing you heard is the light footsteps of the girl beating against the hard steel floor. It ceases. Then the girl's voice echoes when she calls out your name—formally, adding 'Miss' before she said it. You merely nod, muttering a yes that echoed off the walls, one she must have heard.

“I have a job for you,” she said plainly, barely above a whisper. “But first you have to trust me.”

You said nothing.

“I can get you out,” her voice was quieter this time, “but that would mean you are up for the task and,” she pauses, "I don't have much time."

“What does it involve?”

“Something you could never do again if you stay here.”

It didn't take you long to understand her meaning. And it actually made you smile as you thought of it. That was your only weakness, isn't it? And being denied of your true desire is excruciating. The only thing you can do, as it seems, is succumb.

“When do I start?” You asked.

A silenced gunshot resounds; a body thudding on the ground; electronic key pads unlocking. The thick metal doors hissed open, allowing the light from the fluorescent bulbs to seep through. A silhouette stood before you as you adjust to the sudden brightness. A petite young woman had a gun in her hand and held out the other.

“Now.”

—————

Red.

Must everything be this color? Apparently, it should be.

The RED team uniform given to you by that girl, Miss Pauling, fits perfectly—quite too much so. She even gave you a bag with clothes,—though it's all the same uniform—some underwear and other things you have yet to see. From her briefing of what your job is, you could tell they've been monitoring you for a while. She used your real name, that is for one. The doctors in the Institute just gave you a number: 0364; another special case, they called you and you doubt they would give her your real name on the first meeting. The girl was competent enough though, she did not treat you like some psychopath—which you aren't—or insane—which you deny to be. She did not reveal much about your new job either, just enough  that you wouldn't stare blankly at every event. In a simpler term: the rules, which you may or may not have listened to.

Miss Pauling handed you a long slip of paper on the way to the RED base. You rode at the back of her scooter at the time through some barren desert after taking a dark helicopter out of the heavily guarded Institute. The thing nearly blew out of your hands; it flapped annoyingly in the wind, stopping you from reading whatever is written on it, and so you decide to stuff it in your pants’ pocket before you lose it.

“That paper,” she said, almost yelling when the wind roared in your ears. “When you get to the base, “give it to a man called Spy. he'll teach you the basics.”

“Why not just tell me yourself?” You asked.

“I would, but then I have to work for the rest of the day, so forth,” she adds, “I only get a day off once a year and I've already used up that time.”

You both did not speak after that, not until she drove into some sort of hidden entrance behind a curtain with a similar backdrop surrounded by fake cacti. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you,” she said and quickly put her scooter to a halt near a large building, “kill BLU not RED.” You manage a nod, disappointed and somewhat confused but nevertheless content—in some way. As soon as you dismounted and took your bag, she waved you farewell and took off, the skidding wheels of her scooter forming clouds of dust in her wake. So, there you now stood, in some dusty old shank's base.

Finding a door leading into the building behind you, you enter without second thought. The halls were empty and lit with long lines of fluorescent lights. The emptiness however did not mean that it was quiet. You could hear yelling and laughter from the floor above and you searched for stairs or an elevator. A moment passed and you found that there were stairs in the far corner. The noise did not seem to stop, but grew louder as you approach the steps. You did not know what awaited you up there. For a moment you hoped it was someone you could kill—BLU, but this day is full of disappointments as it seems.

You weren't sure what to do once you got up there in the room of nine mercenaries. You imagined they would continue with their business while you tried to look for Spy or something. _This job was your only ticket out of that fucked up place,_ you thought while you straightened your back and made it to the top of the staircase, _might as well do it right or your back in electric shock therapy with Doctor I-forgot-to-tune-down-the-dial-again._

It's amazing how they just suddenly noticed you stride into the room and stare like you had a thousand lights strapped into your head. No, it's not amazing—it was damn annoying.

“I'm looking for Spy,” you said, sounding completely uninterested, to break the silence and a slim man in a dark mask and suit, both tinted red, stood as he lit a cigarette.

“What for, Mademoiselle?” He placed the cigarette in his mouth and blew soft clouds of smoke. After what seemed to be a brief exchange of cold glances, you took out the paper Miss Pauling had given you earlier and hand it to him. He took it from you and read it silently; his expressions changed from being neutral to just confused. The man looked up at you from time to time and the others around you turn to Spy, eager to know the contents of the note.

“Hey,” a younger boy, around his twenties probably, with an unmistakable Bostonian accent said, “hey, Spy. What's it say?”

The French man continued to read, “It's from Miss Pauling—”

The boy immediately leaped up and snatched it from the other's hands upon hearing the name. “Is it 'bout me? I bet it's fricking 'bout me,” he laughed with a toothy smile across his face.

Spy took the paper back with ease, smacking him upside the head as he spoke, “No, you imbecile,” he turned to you, regaining his composure, “Gentlemen, we have a new member of this team—”

“Where is he!” A man stood and shouted from a corner, his helmet covered his eyes as he interrupted, “I'll beat the crap out of him and see if the maggot worthy enough to be here!”

“If you're all quite finished intruding, _she_ stands before us,” he motions to you, looking annoyed at the interruptions, and you could hear the man from the corner muttering: “She's still a maggot . . . ,”

“Miss Pauling wrote you were a taxidermist,” the Spy continued and you agreed, then thought of giving yourself a late introduction.

"A what?" the boy began again as he tried to take the paper from Spy's hands, "She did? Lemme see. All I read was she was from a hospital or somethin'." He promptly received another harsh blow to the back of his head, courtesy of the Spy.

“Vhat sort of hospital?” A tall German man from behind, asked; you could hear the excitement in his thick accent.

Spy sighed and opened his mouth to speak but the boy, yet again, beat him to it. "The  _somethin'-_ Insane," he said rubbing the back of his head with his hand. The masked man just looked so infuriated with the boy that he did not even bother beating him again.

"Criminally Insane," you remark, "It was boring there anyway." You tried to laugh to soften the mood but it came out awkward. The German was . . . smiling. Or at least you thought he was before he fixed the glasses he wore and looked up at you with a cold glare. If you're not mistaken you could see what his eyes hid, he seemed eager like a child wanting to ask a million questions but knows better not to speak. You were so focused on the man that you hardly noticed the others muttering amongst themselves and that Spy tried to call your attention, twice.

“Lost in thought, I see,” he remarked with a sly smile. “I was asking if you would mind me showing you to your room.”

You shake yourself out of the trance and wave off his smug expression. “Oh, sure. It’s been a long day and I've just begun to adjust. I hardly know any of you either.”

“I assure you,” he said, taking your bag for you and tossing it over to the boy. “In a week’s time, you would wish you didn’t.” He placed his hand on the small of your back, which felt awkward so you attempted to move away from his hold. Not like he let you. For a brief moment, you thought of looking back when you felt a stare burn through the back of your neck, but thought better of it—everyone was probably staring at you.

Soon enough, you and Spy—with the boy trailing behind—left the common room, away from the whispers and speculating eyes, and set off to locate your new room. It was not as you expected it, the midsized room at the end of the hallway. Spy, trying to be a gentleman, opened the door for you and motioned for you to enter while the boy you saw earlier still lunged around your bag. The room reminded you of nothing from the Institute; light from the open windows flowed into the room, a lone bed stood near a corner and shelves of books and other things bordered the room; it looked like a cabin—almost like the one you once lived in (without the hearth) and as you stare into it, you grew all the more suspicious. In other words, it was better than you thought however eerie.

“Are you alright here, Mademoiselle?” the Spy asked whilst you took your bag from the younger boy's hands and nodded. You went in your room and turned back to shut the door when Spy's hand stopped it in its place. “And one more thing,” he began, “may I ask why you were in that hospital in the first place?”

“I practice taxidermy on humans,” you said, your tone flat. They did not seem to react in anyway whatsoever. Unless you count their blank faces. “They would still be alive,” you added, “at times I would have to hunt them down when they escape.” You smile at them with eyebrows raised. When they failed to respond, you waved farewell silently and shut the door, unsure how else to react.

 _They had considerably good reactions about this,_ you leaned slightly against the door. _Perhaps, that was normal for them._ But an hour had passed when you found out that Spy and the boy scheduled you for an appointment with their medic before nightfall—and that was two hours away. Within the next thirty minutes, you were prepared. The door was barricaded with a desk and you sat on your bed in the corner hoping they would forget you ever existed. This was necessary, of course. No other course of action could be taken that would not result in being dragged to the medbay. The next thing you knew, they were banging on your door.

"Come on, sheila," one said, "we haven't got all day. And the Medic will screw us if you don't get your ass down there."

"I don't care," you replied. "I am  _not_  mad and I don't see why it's so important."

"Maggot! Get out here now or I will be forced to use force!" It was the man from earlier again. You didn't bother to answer them anymore, you tried to tell them to save their breath but they persisted on getting you out of your room. The Medic must be a tough guy for them to waste their their time on you instead of doing anything else. Either that or they wouldn't want to have their checkup and suddenly wake up missing some limbs or having some added. At least their attempts were amusing; as of now they were trying to break down your door to no avail. _  
_

"I've been in a hospital for ten years," you thought aloud, "why would I need a checkup?"

"Why indeed?" The familiar French accent belonged to no other than—

"Spy," you said and approached him as he sat on your windowsill, smoking yet another cigarette. "Get out."

"And I thought you missed me, Mademoiselle."

"I did not. And it's your fault that I have to visit your _Medic."_ You sounded disgusted when you uttered the word.

"I just did what Miss Pauling instructed me to," he brought out the note she gave you from his coat pocket. You wave it off.

"Do you think I care?"

You glare at the man as he rolled his eyes and blew out another smoke cloud with his cigarette. "No," he said at last, hopping off the windowsill and into your room. He fixed his coat and pressed the cigarette butt against the wooden ledge from where he sat, after which throwing it out of the window. "Why do you think I'm here?"

You opened your mouth to speak—but then it hit you like a fucking train from nowhere. You tried to run, jump out of the window, anything! but you couldn't outrun him. He had you tightly in his grasp when you turned and pierced a syringe through your arm, spilling the vile green liquid into your system. You winced at the pain and tried to grab his head from behind to snap his neck—but you felt frail when you had a hold of it, like you could barely tear a piece of paper. Your nails claw at his skin from behind when your arms grow limp. Then soon, your body. He carried your weight as he waited for the medication to take effect, whispering something in French as you gaze at him angrily, before your world grew black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I just noticed I wrote taxonomy instead of taxidermy????


	2. Diagnosing Predicaments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Medic was fascinated by the detailed and illustrated procedures of your work in the document. The doctors treating you at the time even wrote that you were completely unaware that this was wrong. It was like telling a fish it shouldn't swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!! And this is my gift to you guys. Words!  
> Ps. I'm so sorry for the typos and thank you so much for the really nice comments I don't even know how to reply to them ~~cause I'm a wimp~~ and um yeah I'll stop before I embarrass myself.

A beam of white light seeped through your eyelids, slowly waking you from your sleep. The world around you spun when you tried to look around. Everything was bright with white spots of light dancing across the air. You began to laugh, the spots were so amusing, floating in some void. But, oh, a man stood not far. He was tall like a building or something. You're not sure. Spy was tall. They all were. They're all buildings. You wanted to sit up and hug the man for some reason.

"Nein, fräulein," you hear him say. His voice was familiar, but you barely felt conscious enough to comprehend it. You felt a weight against your forehead, bringing you back down against whatever it was you were lying on, while you stare up at the man's silhouette.

—

You were a mess. Limp and broken like a rag doll that had been thrown into a shredder and sewn back together again. And you weren't like this just today as it seems. The Medic, of course, was given the complete—and _long_ —list of your medical history. Most of them occurred within a ten year period, beginning from ten years ago to the present. Well, what else would one expect when they are in the same premises of murderers and serial killers?

On your file, you were labeled one as well. "Sentenced to a correctional institute for the criminally insane . . . for the murder of three families . . . and for the mutilation of their corpses by way of taxidermy," _Ah, the cruel but beautiful art of taxidermy. . ._ After your trial, you had done the same with patients and doctors in the very hospital using pillow stuffings, a small kitchen knife to skin them, a needle you snuck in, and thread from your bed sheet.

The Medic was fascinated by the detailed and illustrated procedures of your work in the document. The doctors treating you at the time even wrote that you were completely unaware that this was wrong. It was like telling a fish it shouldn't swim. Regardless of what he already read about your condition (and there was a lot more to read), he wanted to examine you further, to know how your mind works. Perhaps even work with you someday. He'll be experimenting on your team mates, and if they die he could just give them to you so you could stuff and hang them wherever you wish. Though it doesn't seem right. Of course, you could experiment _with_ him. _  
_

The Medic looked over to you as you lay on the cot, smiling, looking around aimlessly like a drunk. _That dummkopf Spy gave her too much sedative,_ he thought bitterly and groaned.  _I might as well operate while she is numb._ _  
_

"If you begin to feel any pain, fräulein," he said, leaning closer to your face, "remember zat I'm opening your chest so I vouldn't move if I vere you."

What was he thinking? You probably couldn't even understand him (and you didn't). He awaited your response and was replied to with a wide grin and a weak laugh. He shouldn't have even tried.

 _The procedure would not last long anyway,_ he thought as he moved over to a table with variety of surgical blades, scalpels, and other tools, one of them being another small ÜberCharge meter that he plans on attaching to—preferably—your heart. He took a pair of scissors and examined it before turning to—

"Archimedes?"

The bloodstained dove perched itself on your stomach while you stroked its feathers like it was some feline. It cooed softly as it nestled against your hand. He was not sure how to react to this; Archimedes never really reacted this way to the others before.

You continued to smile madly even as the Medic approached and when Archimedes flew away. _She's on sedatives,_ he reminded himself. _It's a shame you have to be drugged for this procedure though._ He would wait for the sedative to wear off but he still has other business to take care off. He examined your files yet again. You seemed quite normal, no unusual appendages or other. That, of course, has to change. 

When you raised your head to look at him, he placed his hand on your forehead to nudge you back down on the cot. He pushed back his glasses and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows before he began cutting your shirt open from the lower hem. After which, the tedious task of removing your bra. Then, of course, came the completely unavoidable predicament:—which he tried his best to ignore or at least remain professional about—seeing your naked upper half. He shifted his weight uneasily, then tried to rid of all the embarrassment he felt while he prepared for the operation. At one point, he heard your laughter, soft and mellow like a child's but when he looked over his shoulder, you were drifting off to sleep.

The Medic then began the surgical procedure, checking back and fourth between your files, the heart rate monitor, and his (now bloody) tools. Like he suspected, it did not take long at all, just an hour's work. He might have left his scalpel while he dug beneath your lungs to your heart but he found it again—at least, that's what he remembers. Other than that and Archimedes burrowing himself beneath your rib cage and having replace your heart twice (not confirming if it was human), the procedure was a success! The ÜberCharge meter should work fine—well, he can't know for sure seeing that its a new model and hasn't been tested yet, but it _should_ work.

For once, he managed to behave himself and not put a baboon lung in place of yours. He has a lot of those laying around to be honest, along with uteruses and kidneys. Though, he thought that he should save them for another time. 

You were still asleep when he had finished using the Medigun to close the cavity he made in your chest and abdomen, and dressing with your repaired clothes you for that matter. This was the first procedure he had without anyone screaming in pure agony. It was disappointing, really. Well, for him.

He looked down and gazed upon your face. You looked fairly innocent for someone with your criminal record, though you were no longer smiling at the time. The doctor reached for a cloth on a rack nearby and wiped the blood off his hands when he noticed a stray tress of hair on your forehead—which he promptly tucked behind your ear. You stirred beneath his touch, furrowing your brows. You were sleeping after all and clearly you didn't want to be awakened.

———

Everything ached.

Your head felt like it was being slammed into a brick wall; your lungs, constricted; your chest, something was in there that shouldn't be. You would claw out your heart if you could. And you weren't even fully awake yet. The bright light stung your watery eyes when you tried to open them. You were not even sure where you were; you could be dead for all you know. You raised a hand to your head to rub your temples, and at that moment you realize an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose.

Well, you weren't dead, and you're quite certain you know where you are now.

You rip the mask off your face and force yourself to stand, ignoring the intense pain. You didn't care if you die in the process, all you wanted is to get out of this shithole.

Your feet firmly touched the ground, but they felt like they could barely support your weight, not like that stopped you from attempting to stand. You struggled to keep your balance. It was like walking on stilts on water, falling was inevitable.

"Vhat are you doing?" A man rushed to your side and sat you up on the cot again. You tried to fight him off, however it looked like you were just flailing your arms at him. He took the oxygen mask from behind but you push him away, avoiding the mask at all costs.

"Your vasting your energy, fräulein," he said, still trying to get the thing on you.

You didn't listen and fought until your last breath—literally. You soon struggled to breathe altogether and grew weaker than before. The man saw this as his chance to place the mask on you and did, right before you collapsed on his chest, half-awake and disoriented.

It took you a while before you could breathe properly again and actually feel not like shit. All attempts to escape as soon as possible were crushed however by the Medic who stood by, monitoring you. His accent had given away that he was the man from earlier, the one interested in your being a patient at some hospital. All the pieces fell together at that point.

You looked up at him; it was a better view than when you first laid eyes on him that is for sure. He wore a different shirt than earlier; this was a vest over a long sleeved shirt folded up to his elbows, both of which had bloodstains. He pulled the mask off your face and gestured that you sit up. After you did so, he took your vitals and scribbled something in a thick folder with your name on the cover. 

"You can leave now, fräulein," he said, not bothering to look up while he wrote.

With a large grin on your face, you hopped off the cot and strode out of the room—but then you did none of this instead you remained seated on the cot, watching the Medic write down whatever it is doctors write after checking on a patient. It's odd, really, but you did not want to leave—not yet, anyway.

"You're still here," he said, looking up at you for a second before continuing to write on the folder he held.

"Yes," you said, hopping off the cot at last, "I just wanted to thank you."

He seemed surprised and lowered the folder. "For vhat?"

"You did not kill me, or replace any of my limbs. For once I did not feel any pain during an operation, though the sedatives took its toll. All seems to be well," you flashed a smile and added, "Thank you," before heading off toward the metal doors. You could sense the tension in the air (or was that just you and your rapidly beating heart?); he seemed like he wanted to tell you something, either that or you just want him to speak to you. The only German you've met was the one in the hospital, threatening to stab you with a plastic fork if you don't give him your supper (you hung him in a special place in the cafeteria after that.) As for doctors, there are far too many to mention. But he did not seem like them. Well, you've met him only today but who knows, perhaps one day he might give you electric shock therapy after he willingly tried to maul you with a fork for not sharing your food.

"Fräulein?"

Fuck.

How long have you been staring at the door?

"It's nothing," you said and left the room. You weren't even sure what he was about to say, it could have been important. But that opportunity has unfortunately passed. You continued to your room, regretting that you just left him when he probably wasn't done speaking. Your social skills—with men—are clearly out of practice. And now, you live and work with nine of them.

"Where are you heading off to, Mademoiselle?"

_This guy again._

"Somewhere far away from you," you said while you continued to walk. You weren't even sure where he was other than behind you.

"You're wise not to trust me," he said, trailing behind you.

"You fucking stabbed me with a syringe," you quicken your pace.

"Holding grudges, I see. Regardless, you would still have to join us for dinner."

"Yeah, well, I am not sitting down with you if that's what you're implying. It's a good thing you have that mask on, so I wouldn't have to"—you turned around—"see your . . ."

He wasn't there.

"What the—?" You look around then check yourself if the sedatives haven't damaged your brain. But how would you know if that was so? You then resort to the other option of believing that Spy was just messing with you. You call out his name a few times and, to your _surprise_ , no one answered. "If this is so I could apologize, forget it," you said, you knew he was hiding somewhere (I mean, they don't call him Spy for nothing) but soon enough, he proved that he is not easily caught. "Spy?" You called out, sounding more desperate than you hoped.

You heard him laugh from behind you. An extremely snobbish and annoying laughter. You didn't even want to turn to see the smug look on his face. Oh, god, you hope he chokes on that stupid cigarette of his.

"Ha, ha," you mocked him as you turned, "You're fucked up, Spy."

"Should I take that as a complement?"

"Would you shut up?" you tried to contain your resent, clenching your fists, "Just leave me alone, alright?"

He grew silent. You weren't sure what went through his head but his expression remained blank, like he normally was. "If that is what you wish," he said before he . . . disappeared? Yes, he just  _vanished_ into thin air. Now, your wondering if Miss Pauling was actually another doctor and decided its about time you transfer to the mental ward. That is unlikely, of course.

You called out his name as you wandered through the halls. And as time passed you grew certain of one thing: you're on your own now.

It took you at least an hour of searching before you realized that you have no idea where the dining room is. You tried to return to the medbay and ask Medic but he was no longer there. After you grew tired of wondering around, you decided to find your way back to your room and at least try to get some sleep.

Once you entered your room, you shut the door and threw yourself onto the bed. Its been a long day and you're fairly hungry, annoyed, with you've felt a stabbing pain in your chest since you left the medbay. It wasn't love or anything, your chest just really hurt.

Hopefully, everything would be fine in the morning.

——

The Medic made his way to your room, a plate of your dinner in hand. He couldn't believe Spy just left you to wander around the base. What did he say? That you were right behind him the entire time?

 _Schweinhund_.

He stood in front of your door and knocked while he called out your name. He isn't even sure if you're here, but where else could you be? He knocked again and the door moved at his touch. Hesitantly, he entered and looked around the dark room. There, he found you lying on your bed, fast asleep. He wouldn't allow you to skip a meal and so he quietly made his way to your side before doing his best attempts to waken you. After a quick shove and a loud call of your name, you woke, nearly screaming to be honest. You probably thought there was an emergency and you all needed to evacuate.

Your brows furrow at the man who stood before you and you manage to speak in a groggy voice, "What?" you asked, rubbing your eyes.

"You missed dinner, fräulein."

You look up and see the plate of food he brought. It was as if your weariness drained instantaneously at the sight of food. You sat up and gladly took the plate. "Blame that bastard Spy," you said as you ate. "It's like he just disappeared or something."

"Ja, he does zat—frequently if not alvays," he said, the corner of his lip twitching into an awkward smile.

"Thank you, again," you said, seeming to have noticed his uneasiness. "I swear you're the nicest person I've met since I got here."

He glared at you like he was angered and confused by your words. "I doubt it," he only thought he said, "You've only been here one day and you barely know vho I am." He went on having this conversation with you and it took him a while before he realized that he said none of this out loud.

"Gute nacht, fräulein," he spoke at last before he turned to leave, earning a rather disappointed look from you.

"Good night," he heard you say when he shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: me typing taxonomy instead of taxidermy again. if this happens in every chapter I'll be so mad.


End file.
